The Wizard's Consort
by Dark Aegis
Summary: In legend, she is his downfall. In reality, she is his salvation. A Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler adventure.
1. Chapter 1: Nimue

**Title:** The Wizard's Consort  
**Authors:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Ten/Rose  
**Summary:** In legend, she is his downfall. In reality, she is his salvation.  
**Spoilers:** Up to Rise of the Cybermen/Age of Steel, Seventh Doctor Episode "Battlefield"  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest, WMR, JulieS, & SCAngel. Pinch-hit for the Rose Tyler Ficathon for vegasunicorn25. As an additional note, in the Seventh Doctor episode "Battlefield", an evil soceress named Morgaine invades Earth and reveals that the Doctor is/will be/was Merlin. I use this particular tidbit of information a great deal in this fic thanks to my prompts, which were:

1.Ten/Rose romance, doesn't have to be smut.  
2.King Arthur's court, Camelot, etc, (bonus points if you have Jack as Lancelot ;))  
3.A dragon, can be only a mention.

* * *

**"The Wizard's Consort"  
by Gillian Taylor**

**Chapter 1: Nimue**

_Time isn't linear. It twists and turns, goes sideways and diagonal. Sometimes it's a simple, easy path. Tomorrow is the future, straight ahead. Yesterday is the past, directly behind._

_Other times, it's anything but. Tomorrow could be to the right or the left. Yesterday could be straight ahead. These are the eddies and currents of the Vortex. Sometimes there are changes. Sometimes the currents are easy to predict._

_But, most of the time, they're not. Time flows where it wills and, for those who travel through it, anything might happen._

_And it usually does._

* * *

"That's not good," he mutters from his undignified sprawl on the floor. Last time this sort of thing happened he'd found himself in a San Francisco surgery. After a bad experience with human anaesthetic, he'd woken up in the morgue with a new face. He wasn't ready to go through that again any time soon. "Time warp? Bump in the road? Or, ooh, I know. Indigestion. Though what that'd have to do with it, I haven't the foggiest." He pushes himself off the floor, trying his best to walk in a semi-straight line back to the console, which is hard to do when the floor is doing its best to knock him off his feet again.

"Doctor?" Rose asks, careering towards him thanks to a particularly nasty bump. He grasps her and the console in a feat of acrobatics that, in a perfect world, would earn him a medal. At least a bronze. Most likely a silver.

"Hold on," he tells her, rather than answering the implied question. Once he's certain she's clinging to one of the struts and not likely to get knocked about any further, he turns his attention to the sparking console.

Oh, yes, definitely not good. Sparks are one thing. Blinking mauve lights are something entirely different. It takes yet another feat of balance (and acrobatics) to keep himself in place as the TARDIS bucks around him. He flips a switch, another and another. Anything to slow or stop their desperate flight.

It doesn't work. He wonders if hitting the controls with a rubber mallet might help, but he suspects all it'd do is annoy the TARDIS. Which is never a good thing.

So he holds on and wonders just what else he can try. Reversing the polarity does little more than smooth their flight a bit, in the way that a tornado is slightly less bothersome than a hurricane.

That's when it changes. For a moment, he feels his senses - all twenty seven - dim around the edges. If he has to describe it, he thinks the universe is about to sneeze.

Then it does. And the centre console promptly explodes.

* * *

Funfairs, he decides, are highly overrated. Especially when it comes to the rides. Who in their right mind would enjoy getting spun about in a teacup? He blinks his thoughts and his vision into focus. The ceiling looks to be in need of a good dusting, he thinks absently as he tries to catalogue his limbs. Hands, legs, feet, arms, torso, head. All seem to be in one piece and functional.

Last thing he remembers is...

Smoke? His nose twitches as he smells the tell-tale scent of burnt circuitry. In an instant, he's on his feet staring in shock at the still burning remains of the centre console.

_Not again_ is the first thought that comes to mind, but that fact that the lights are still functional belays that particular fear. He can still sense the TARDIS at the back of his mind. "_Rassilon_," he mutters, reaching out to tentatively touch one of the non-burning portions of the console. The TARDIS is fine, just a little worse for the wear.

Just needs a bit of repair work, careful application of fire suppressant, and she'll be right as rain in no time. She will, at least. Question is, what about...

"Rose!" he exclaims, cursing himself for a fool at worrying over the ship when his far more fragile companion might've…well, anything might've happened. He spins, looking for her around the room. When he finally spots her, his hearts lurch in fear.

She's lying, crumpled, against the door. From his position by the console, he can't tell if she's breathing and, as if by magic, he finds himself at her side in an instant. He doesn't even remember moving. He brushes her hair from her face and winces when he spots the dull bruising against her cheek.

His free hand reaches for her neck and he only relaxes when he feels the steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips. She's alive. Just knocked out. "Rose?" he asks softly, willing her to wake.

She moans softly, her eyelashes fluttering against her skin as she fights towards consciousness. He can practically sense her battle, knowing that part of her feels that unconsciousness is safer. A bitter part of himself doesn't blame her. It's never safe around him.

Without opening her eyes, she reaches for her cheek. He arrests the motion gently, grasping her hand in his. "Rose?"

"What happened?" she asks, and finally she opens her eyes.

"Hit a bit of a bump in the road. Okay, more like a sandbar. Are you all right? Well, besides the bruise, of course," he says.

"Yeah, 'm fine I think. Jus'…is that smoke?" She looks past him, eyes widening when she apparently sees the sparking console.

"Yeah, it's smoke. But it's okay. Just need to get some fire suppressant, have a few hours of fixing and she'll be just like new. Well, not really new. Bit hard to do that. She's older than I am. Maybe refurbished?" he suggests, running a hand through his hair.

"The centre console _exploded_, Doctor. Jus' like before," she replies and in her gaze he can see that the memories are starting to overwhelm her.

"Not like before," he corrects, gesturing towards the ceiling. "See? We've still got power. Didn't even have to give up a decade or two in the process."

"But how could hitting a…sandbar do this? An' how can there be a sandbar in the Vortex? Thought it was like the Chunnel or somethin'." She moves, indicating that she wants to get back to her feet.

He watches her carefully as she stands, paying close attention to the dilation of her pupils and the colour of her cheeks. She doesn't pale or look as if she is about to faint, which he takes as a very good sign. Rose is just a bit wobbly, but he can't say he blames her. His balance is off, too. Though he tells himself it's because of the landing and not because of his relief that she's okay.

"Oh, right. Sandbars. The Vortex isn't a straight line between point A and point B. And the journey's rarely smooth along the way-"

She cuts him off with a wry grin, her tongue just touching the tip of her teeth. "Thought that's 'cause of the driving."

He continues after giving her a brief quelling glance. "To use human terms, it's like a river. There are smooth bits and there are rapids. And biggest problem of them all are the rocks and sandbars. You can't tell that they're there until you hit them. Generally they're small and just knock you off course. You land in, say, Cardiff rather than Naples. It's the sandbars that can be a bit more problematic. Last time I hit one of those, I ended up in E-Space." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and touching that part of him that was once full of the voices of his people. Still cold, still silent. Not E-Space, then.

There was always the chance he could end up there, before Romana ever left. Sadly, it's not meant to be. "Nasty place, that. Had some redeeming factors, but not many."

"So you don't think we're in our universe anymore?" she asks, a worry line appearing on her brow as she reaches into her pocket for her mobile. The expression on her face is enough to cause his hearts to skip a beat.

"What?"

She holds up the phone, angling the screen so he can see the words in glaring black-on-white:

_NO SIGNAL_

"Oh," he says, dumbfounded.

* * *

There's something almost frightening about the Doctor's intensity as he works at fixing the TARDIS. The fires haven't damaged much, thankfully. Just a few cosmetic patches and, as the Doctor said, she'll be right as rain. However, judging by the grunts and curses that aren't translated, she suspects that the repairs aren't going as well as he'd hoped.

"Doctor?" she asks, rocking back on her heels as she watches him. "'S there anything I can do to help?"

"Not now, thanks," he replies tersely and she tells herself not to take it to heart. He gets like this, she knows, when something's terribly wrong.

"Would you like some tea?" she suggests, desperately hoping that she can do something to feel useful.

"N- Bollocks!" A loud thump, another curse, and the Doctor pushes himself out from underneath the console. He's rubbing the top of his head, wincing slightly as he blinks at her. "No tea, thanks," he says finally.

Suddenly, she feels as if she's nothing more than a distraction from the real work. This is a first and one that cuts to the quick. She smiles hesitantly and walks around him, pausing only when she reaches the viewscreen - the only piece of technology that's currently working on the centre console.

She says nothing as she taps the screen, calling into view the outside world. They might not be in their universe any more, but it looks like a typical English forest. She's bothering him, she knows, and rather than disturb him further she decides to explore. "I'm goin' out for a bit," she says. "Won't go far. Jus' want some air."

"Be careful," he replies absently, already distracted by some other aspect of the repairs. In another time, another place, she'd expect him to protest, even to say he'll come with her. But he's worried. Worried about the TARDIS, worried about getting home, and even to some extent worried about her.

She doesn't answer him, instead crossing the grating to the double doors. She pauses for a moment to take one last glance at him, once again buried under the console. She can't say she objects to the view, but she wishes she could do more to help than to get out of his way.

Sighing softly, she slips outside. Her first impression of the world that they've found themselves in is absolutely right. It's like the home, only slightly different. There's a tang in the air that she can't quite identify, almost as if there's a storm coming. The sky doesn't look threatening, she reasons, and so she sets off to explore, keeping one wary eye on the TARDIS at all times.

She knows that she's got a habit of getting into trouble. Admittedly, the Doctor can't say that he doesn't have that same talent, but it does bother her that she's started being more the damsel in distress than a true partner to him. Sure, he changed bodies but that doesn't mean anything. She didn't change. Or did she?

She doesn't feel different. Same old Rose Tyler. But some of her actions over the past few months didn't feel like _her_. Maybe she's trying too hard. Trying too hard to hold onto the Doctor that he's slipping away. Stupid, really. She should be ashamed.

He's still her Doctor. She's still his Rose. Just because he's younger-looking (well, and gorgeous), more boisterous and talks more about his past and his feelings... it's still him. She knows that. So why's she still trying so hard?

Wait. Something moved. At least, she thinks she saw something move. Yet she sees nothing, only the gentle movement of the leaves in the light breeze. Maybe that's what she saw.

Shaking her head, she returns to her contemplations, letting her feet carry her further from the source of her troubles. The TARDIS is barely visible when she sees it again. Only, this time, she hears it as well.

"Who's there?" she calls, suddenly wary.

Nothing. Even the movement stops and with the breeze, it's near impossible to determine if the last flutter of the brush is because of the wind or a person.

"This isn't funny," she says, sneaking a glance at the TARDIS. She's fairly certain that the Doctor hasn't come out. She should be alone. "Look, I don't mean you any harm. Can you jus' come-"

Her words are cut off as a hand clamps over her mouth, muffling her squeak of surprise. "Shut up, Nimue," a man's voice growls into her ear.

She struggles against his grip, fighting to bring the hand away from her mouth, to call out for help or to break loose. He's far too strong for her.

"Oh-ho, I see why Merlin likes her," another man laughs. "She's feisty."

Nimue? Merlin? They've obviously got her confused with someone else. She wants to tell them so, but the hand won't move from her mouth. "We should get away from that blue contraption of his before he realises his woman's missing. Morgaine will be pleased."

"But what about Merlin? He'll come after us," a new voice says, and she mentally counts how many men must be behind her. Three, perhaps four. Sent to kidnap someone named Nimue and she's apparently been mistaken for her. Wonderful.

"That's the point, idiot," the first one snarls and begins dragging her with him, despite her muffled protests and her kicking feet. She feels her sleeve snag on the brush and the man tugs her free, ripping the fabric in the process.

She wishes she could scream for the Doctor. Wishes she could do something other than be a damsel in distress, and she decides in that moment she will. She'll let these blokes take her where they will, with her paying close attention to the route. And then she's going to escape, make her way back to the TARDIS with the Doctor none the wiser.

These idiots won't know what hit them.

Until, of course, something hits her. Darkness lurks at the edges of her vision and she feels herself fall heavily backwards into her captor's arms. The last thing she sees before the darkness claims her is the toothless smile of a particularly ugly man.

"Night, night, Nimue," he says, and she knows no more.

* * *

By the fifth time the TARDIS stings him with sparks, he realises that she's particularly peeved at him. "What?" he asks around one of his injured fingers, pulling it out of his mouth to inspect the damage. Only a faint red mark remains, but it's enough to remind him of the burn.

The TARDIS' hum deepens and he feels a flash of something approaching annoyance.

"Am I being too rough?" Maybe he is. He was thinking rather hard, though not entirely on fixing the ship. More about how he treated Rose. She was just trying to help, he knows.

The hum changes again, to one of satisfaction.

Cheeky thing. Even his TARDIS is conspiring against him. "Rose?" he calls, belatedly remembering that she went outside. A frisson of worry fills him as he realises that it's been almost an hour since she left the ship. She should've at least popped in, seen if he needed anything, before going out again.

Maybe he's been depending on her a little too much recently. Taking her for granted. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. All this thinking isn't bringing Rose back inside, so he pushes himself to his feet.

It only takes a few seconds to walk across the floor to the doorway, another to pull on his trench-coat and another to open the door.

The first thing he sees is, of course, trees. Stereotypical Earth-like trees, actually. Which, considering the - ah, yes, ozone… lots of ozone - air, seems a bit strange. Gravity is a little off one-g, but not enough to make much of a difference. And is that… oh, it is! "Blimey, would you look at that! Rose! Rose, come here, you've got to see this. Haven't seen one of these in years!" Admittedly, this particular plant shouldn't exist side-by-side with the twentieth-century contemporary undergrowth, but it did.

Throw in a Silurian and he'd feel right at home.

When he doesn't hear her reply, he's worried. He should've heard something. A rustle of brush. A shout. Something. He turns away from the plant and looks around the clearing. He can barely see where her feet pushed down the grass, but he follows the tracks anyway. She could be anywhere. Have found anything.

Captured, hurt, unconscious, even killed. He immediately dismisses the last thought, convinced that he'd know if anything ever happened to her. She's fine. Just not answering because…of something that's causing her not to answer him.

"Rose!" he shouts again. Only the birds answer him.

Frowning, he keeps his attention on the ground, trusting that the tracks will lead him to Rose. When he reaches the undergrowth, he curses softly, realising that it'll only get more difficult from here. She promised to stay near the TARDIS. From here, he can barely see his home through the foliage, only the barest glimmer of blue. She shouldn't've come this far.

"Rose, answer me!" he calls, spinning on his heels as he scans the forest.

Still nothing.

Where can she have got to? How much trouble can one human...? "Too much," he says, answering his own question. He pulls his glasses out of his pocket and bends to examine a broken branch, hoping that it would reveal his errant companion's whereabouts.

That's when he finds the scrap of fabric, barely more than a few threads, but it's enough to be identifiable. Grey cloth. Very familiar grey cloth.

He frowns. Rose was wearing her grey hoodie, not that he pays close attention to her clothing, but it is one of her favourites. The torn cloth, the broken branches, and the disturbed turf all lead to one possible conclusion.

She's in trouble.

Right. So, think. He's got no clue where this is. No idea of who or what might've taken her. And, even better, no idea _where_ they might've taken her. Sounds a bit impossible, but he likes impossible.

It's so much fun to turn impossible on its ear. And, when it comes to Rose Tyler, impossible can't stop him.

He tries to follow the trail of broken branches, where she's obviously struggled against someone. Probably more than one assailant, maybe four, and humanoid. At least the feet seem humanoid enough. There's too much disturbance of the undergrowth to specify numbers.

He loses the trail some fifteen feet from where he found the fabric. One moment, there're footprints in the soil. The next, there's nothing. Almost as if they were transmatted away.

Transmats. He's good with those. Though, different universe. Might not work on the same principle. However, he decides to try anyway. Just a quick twist of the sonic screwdriver and he activates it.

Nothing. No aggravated Rose-nappers. Not even a consolation prize.

"Doubted it would've worked anyway," he mutters, though he knows it's a lie. He hoped it would've worked, but it didn't. Rose is still gone. Disappeared into nothingness. And that's not acceptable.

He turns and walks back to the TARDIS, trying to think of what else he might try. Calling her mobile's out. No signal is no signal. He wouldn't be able to reach her anyway. And, if her kidnappers were smart, they'd keep her unconscious and probably remove whatever she had...

Fear makes him pause. What if they…? No. He won't think about it. She'll be fine. He just has to find her first.

Scan for human life-signs? Though, knowing his luck, the locals are humans. He could always try the...

_Merlin._

The word is forcefully injected into his mind and he stumbles, fumbling for something to hold onto as barely used abilities flare to life.

_I know you can hear me, Merlin. I'm glad you've returned. It's been too long since we last matched wits. _

"Who are you?" he asks, finding his voice.

_Oh, you jest well, Merlin. You know exactly who I am. The voice turns hard. Your Nimue is mine. I suppose you could say that she's about to become a permanent guest. You shall know my demands upon the hour._

"Wait!" he shouts, feeling the voice pull away. He loses his balance, falling to his knees as he tries to search for that tendril of thought. He knows he's searched this plane, hasn't felt any of his people or anything telepathic. Then how? What is that?

The voice had called him Merlin.

Oh, no. Surely not. That's impossible. It simply _can't_ be.

Memory returns in an instant. When he was younger, shorter, older and Scottish he'd met someone who called him Merlin. Said his aspect was different, but it was still him.

"No," he whispers, running his hand through his hair. It's impossible. Completely impossible. But he has to acknowledge that it might be true. This might be Ancelyn's world. And Morgaine's.

Which means this is the incarnation that will become Merlin. Perhaps. Maybe. Possibly. His mind whirls with thoughts, but there's nothing that he can do. He doesn't know who he's up against.

It could be Morgaine, he acknowledges. It's been several centuries since he'd last heard her voice. He doesn't remember its nuances. Or it could be someone else. He can't assume that this is Ancelyn's world. Not yet.

"Jumping to conclusions again?" he asks himself, shaking his head. He should return to the TARDIS. Come up with a plan. Rescue Rose.

He's almost back to the TARDIS when he realises that he isn't alone. The sounds are quiet, but whoever is following him doesn't have a Time Lord's senses. He freezes, straining his hearing to try and pinpoint just where his pursuer is. "You realise that it's not nice to follow someone without saying hello first," he says, deciding to go for the more direct approach.

A low chuckle answers him and he turns to face a…knight? Yes, a knight. In the truest, classical sense of the word. Complete with shiny armour, colourful tunic and a…crown? Now, that's not usual knight's attire.

"Never could hide from you, my friend."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Portents

**Chapter 2: Portents**

The first time she wakes, it's only for a moment and she can only register that someone seems to have left the lights on before unconsciousness takes her again. The second, she can't focus on her surroundings, knowing only that someone else is there. Someone who doesn't talk – or, perhaps, can't – but feels almost malevolent. Evil.

She wants to escape, to get away, but she feels as if she were wrapped in cotton wool. Her thoughts are too sluggish. She thinks she hears someone speak, but perhaps it's only in her mind…

_So the Big Bad Wolf has come to rest at last. Sleep, Nimue. Dream. And when you next wake, we will talk of Merlin and his world._

And that's the last she remembers for what she thinks must be a rather long time.

* * *

She hurts. Head, shoulders, arms, torso, legs. Everything hurts. Even, she realises as her fingers twitch reflexively, her skin. It's a stretchy-sort of hurt. Not agony, but it's enough to be bothersome.

She bites back the moan that threatens to escape her, instead opening her eyes slowly to take note of her surroundings. She remembers being kidnapped, struggling, and then getting knocked out. She vaguely recalls waking earlier, yet little else.

Fighting to restore her composure, as well as her wits, she glances around the room that she's found herself in. Some would consider it opulent. Provided, of course, that she liked things that seem to be straight out of a postcard of the Middle Ages.

She is lying on a semi-soft mattress, but it's thin enough that she feels what might be rope strung underneath. The fur coverlet that drapes over her is thick and warm, shielding her from the chill air she can feel against her face. A canopy covers the bed, masking most of the room with its gauzy covering.

She tries not to move too much, just using her eyes to search what little she can see of the room. She doesn't want to alert whoever is watching her – as she suspects there must be – that she's finally awake. She wants to know what sort of situation she's found herself in. And, then, figure out how she can get out of it.

Biggest problem that she can see so far is that she doesn't know where she is. Her hands and feet aren't bound, so she's free to move about. However, she knows that what doors she'll find are likely to be locked. Freedom - such as it is - is illusory.

Once she's determined that she's alone, she lets herself stretch out the kinks in her muscles and tries to banish the aches that still linger in her body. Her first impression, she decides as she sits up in the bed, is absolutely correct.

It's a gilded cage.

If she closes her eyes, she supposes that she might think she was in a hotel on another planet, knowing that she's safe because the Doctor is next door. She doesn't. This, she knows, is reality and she must face it. So, as she pulls back the drapes, she finds tiny aspects of the room that only reinforce her earlier conclusion.

The windows – which were hidden by the canopy – are small and deeply inset into the walls. Metal bars block the access and she doubts that she'd be able to squeeze through that narrow a gap to try that escape route.

Biting her lip, she pushes herself to her feet, barely avoiding losing her balance as her feet slide on the rushes covering the floor. Her jail, she discovers, is a single room with a few anachronistic – at least from her perspective - chairs for seating. A large fireplace adorns one of the walls and a fire is burning inside it, blocking her view of the chimney – not that she thinks she could climb it to escape.

She discovers a pitcher full of water and a basin, next to which she finds what looks like a bucket with a seat on top. She realises belatedly that that's the loo.

Wonderful.

When she reaches the door, she tries the latch but, unsurprisingly, it's locked. She's stuck, with no visible means of escape, in a room without the basic comforts of home. This is not turning out to be her best day.

Frowning, she takes a seat, staring at the door as if it were the source of all the answers in the universe. Someone should come and find her. She's a prisoner of some sort, held captive because of 'Merlin'. It's only common courtesy for the captor to visit their detainee. Right?

Then again, this isn't her world.

She decides, finally, that she'll give it some time. Wait for a bit and consider what other options she might have for escape. The room looks like it's straight out of the Middle Ages. It's probably a castle so there's bound to be secret passages, right?

Or, if she waits long enough, someone should bring her a meal. Then she can knock out whoever comes to feed her and escape that way.

She doesn't indulge the thought that she might be waiting for a while.

* * *

He stares at the knight, dumbfounded. Last time he's checked, he doesn't know any knights. Let alone any who might call him 'old friend'. Finding his voice, he asks in as droll a tone as he can muster, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say 'tag, you're it'?"

The other man laughs again, though there's little joy behind it. "You've always had the most curious wit, Merlin, but you told me that you wouldn't recognise me. At least not in this point in time. I still don't understand how you can live backwards, but I will not concern myself with that now. I wish to apologise, my friend. I am Arthur, King of Britannia, and I have failed you."

Arthur? Merlin? Now it is starting to make a twisted sort of sense. He knows that he's destined to become Merlin; he just doesn't know when. Now he knows that this is the incarnation that will do it. Strange. He's never fancied himself the type to wear robes or sport a beard.

Never had a beard before, though. Might be interesting. No, wait. Now he's let himself become distracted. "Failed me?" he repeats.

Arthur nods, bowing his head. "We knew that Morgaine had laid plans to steal your Nimue. From your visage, it is obvious that I failed to find you before it happened."

A frown crosses his face at the mention of 'Nimue'. He knows the legends about Merlin. He made a point of looking them up after his first encounter with someone who thought him to be the famous wizard. To equate Rose to Nimue…

It makes sense, really. He's always loved his companions. If she's with him when he becomes Merlin, how else could they identify her? So she becomes someone he loves – which is true – and someone who enters the history books as the only woman Merlin was in love with – which he tells himself isn't true.

He's always been good at lying to himself.

"Where has Morgaine taken Rose?"

Arthur looks confused. "Rose? Oh, yes. You told me… Morgaine would have had her brought to her keep. It's some distance from here, but I arranged for my men to follow me here with extra horses."

He is about to ask for more information when he hears what sounds like a large animal moving through the forest towards them.

The King tenses, resting his hand against his sword. "Move behind me, Merlin. There have been rumours of a foul Wyrm roaming these woods."

In another lifetime, he would've scoffed at the idea of a Wyrm – or, rather, a dragon. This time around, he knows far too well that there is more than enough unexplained phenomena in the universe that doesn't fit within his carefully constructed belief system. And, admittedly, this isn't even his universe. On Earth, he knows that the legends of dragons had originated because of a particularly clever hologram prank. Yet that doesn't mean that on this particular planet there weren't dragons.

The sound of rustling brush seems to get closer and Arthur pulls his sword from its sheath.

He steals a glance at the TARDIS. "We can go into the TARDIS; she's withstood the hordes of Genghis Khan. A dragon's nothing in comparison." Okay, that last bit is a lie, but it's enough to give him a measure of comfort.

"There isn't enough time," Arthur says grimly.

For the lack of anything better to do, he pulls out his sonic screwdriver. He's not certain it can do anything against a 'foul Wyrm', but he might as well give it a try. He doesn't want to face another delay in finding Morgaine and rescuing Rose.

Arthur suddenly relaxes, putting his sword away. "It is safe, Merlin. You can put away your wand," the King says. "My knights have arrived."

"With a dragon?" he asks, suddenly confused. He then realises that the rustling noises are actually those of several horses moving through the woods. Not one large animal, but several smaller ones.

The King gives him a strange look, but before the other man can say a word he hears someone calling out the King's name. The voice is oddly familiar, but he dismisses that as a quirk of humanity. There are plenty of times that he's sworn he's heard a familiar voice –

_Romana calling his name. Leela shouting for him to get down. Ace asking if she can use the next canister of Nitro Nine._

-but it generally turns out to be someone other than who he hopes for.

He watches the knights enter the clearing, but has a hard time avoiding gasping in shock when the lead knight pulls off his helm.

It's Jack.

He should be... No. It can't be Jack Harkness. It's just a terrible coincidence that this knight could be Jack's twin brother. A cruel twist on the classic alternates story. Everyone has their twin in another universe. This could easily be Jack's.

"Lancelot!" Arthur greets, holding out his hand to the Jack-look-alike. The other man grasps his forearm after he bends slightly on the horse.

"My liege. We got here as swiftly as we could," Ja-no, Lancelot, says, shooting him a glance that's rife with more than just worry. There's knowledge. Understanding. Almost as if he knows what's going through his mind.

He wants to say something, to call him Jack just to see what his reaction might be, but he can't. That would be far too selfish and there are far, far more important things to worry about than the appearance of a duplicate Captain Harkness.

Such as how to rescue Rose.

"I arrived too late, Lancelot. Nimue has been taken. We must lay siege upon Morgaine's castle," Arthur says and that's enough to jerk him out of his contemplations.

"Siege?" he repeats, shaking his head. "Was planning on having a nice chat with Morgaine, actually. Maybe have a few cups of tea in the process. Though, knowing my luck, you lot don't have tea. Or, even worse, you just have coffee."

"You can't _talk_ to her!" King Arthur protests. "You've tried that before and it never works."

He blinks. He had? Well, maybe. Future him, after all. "Oh, don't underestimate the power of prattle."

"Don't underestimate Morgaine's hatred of you," Lancelot says and there it is again. Worry tinged with something else. Could it be Jack? Just not _his_ Jack?

"She has Rose," he says, as if that answers everything. But, surprisingly, none of the knights bother to contradict him or caution him. That in itself is somewhat worrying. They know him, though he can't say the same of them. It's somewhat disgruntling.

"Mount up," Arthur orders, though not unkindly. He can see that the king is just as worried as he is. Does the man know Rose, too? As more than just a name? As more than Nimue?

He shakes his head at the turn of his thoughts and mounts the horse that's been designated as his. It's been a while since he last rode, but he figures that it's much like riding a bike. Once known, never forgotten.

"How long?" he asks.

Lancelot moves his horse next to his and replies, "'Ere the sun sets."

He just hopes that it isn't five hours too late.

* * *

Two hours. Two long, boring hours spent tracing every wall in her room, searching for lines that might indicate a hidden doorway. She lifted figurines, tried to twist candle-holders on the wall, pressed indentations, and done everything that she thought might reveal a secret passage. Nothing worked. She's still stuck. Still in the room. And still with no way out.

It's rather frustrating. In a fit of aggravation, she's even tried to squeeze through the bars over the windows. Even that defied her.

She's fed up, actually. Fed up with waiting for someone to decide to give her the time of day. Fed up with the lack of proper loo facilities in this bloody place. And, most especially, fed up with being a captive – again. "Enough of this rubbish. Oi, whoever's decided to keep me in here! If you're plannin' on boring me to death, it won't work!"

She's rather smug when the door opens as if in response, revealing a tall woman with brilliant red hair. A tall crown is on her head, though her semi-regal appearance is somewhat tarnished by the gold-plated chest-plate that covers her torso. She's someone royal, at least, but the armour doesn't fit with what little she knows about ancient times. Everything else works, somewhat. But a woman and armour? Not so much.

"An' who are you, then?" she asks, not bothering with any sort of honorific. Might be a bit stupid on her part, but she can't muster enough will to care.

The woman's expression hardens. "I am Queen Morgaine, child, and you will address me as befits my position."

"Fine. Queen Morgaine. Mind tellin' me why your blokes decided to kidnap me? Seems to me that they'd got me mixed up with someone else. I'm not a part of whatever little war you've got going on with Merlin. So we can put this behind us if you jus' let me go," she suggests, not bothering to straighten her posture or do anything else that might imply that she's anything other than nonchalant about her current problem.

Morgaine laughs. "Oh, Nimue, you are amusing. You see, child, you are involved in my ongoing struggle against Merlin."

"My _name_ is Rose Tyler. If you're lookin' for titles, it's Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates. Not Nimue. 'S a case of mistaken identity. It happens. So let me go," she says, folding her arms before her.

"No," the Queen replies, smiling faintly. "It doesn't matter what you call yourself, child. Be it Rose Tyler or not. I know who you _are_. Do you deny that you know the man who calls himself the Doctor?"

She blinks, suddenly struck speechless. When she finally finds her voice, it seems as if more than a few seconds have passed. More like hours. "What's he got to do with this?" Is Morgaine trying to imply that the Doctor's Merlin? She's never heard anything more ridiculous in her life.

"Everything. The Doctor, as you call him, is Merlin. I have skirmished with him for many years and now, with you here, I have an advantage," Queen Morgaine's lips stretch into a full smile, but there's nothing reassuring about it. "He'll stop at nothing to get you back."

He generally does try everything in his power to rescue her, but this is ridiculous. The Doctor can't be Merlin. And fighting her for years? "Tell me this, then. If you've been fightin' him for years, how come he's never mentioned you before?"

Morgaine looks at her with an expression that implies she's being particularly dense. "I've battled him for years, Nimue. He simply hasn't begun his duel with me yet."

Time travel? Oh, great, this is enough to give her a headache. "Then, if he doesn't even know you, what's the point of this?"

The other woman's smile deepens and answers cryptically, "You'll see."

Really, she'd rather just know. She's learned from the Doctor that it's generally much easier to stop the villain when she knows what their evil plan is rather than just guessing it. "Changing history?" she suggests and rewards a mental point to herself in this particular battle of wits when she sees a faint flinch. "So it is. Brilliant plan. Change history, bring in reapers, an' destroy the universe. Pretty hollow victory, isn't it?"

Morgaine's expression turns thunderous. "I know exactly what... Oh, clever Nimue. Trying to learn too much. I have told you enough, now you can think over what you have learned."

"An' what about letting me go?" she asks again, not because she expects an answer but because she wants to know.

"Child, you're going to be my guest for a long time. I suggest you enjoy what comforts you have available to you," Morgaine replies, turning towards the door.

"How 'bout some books, then. A telly? Paper an' pen? Dinner?" she requests, though she knows half of them will be denied.

"Food will be provided…eventually," the other woman says and walks out of the room before she has a chance to come up with another question.

Wonderful. No, fantastic. She knows now that she's stuck in a room, captive of a woman whose goal is to change history. That's never a good idea, as she well knows. Last time she tried, she ended up almost destroying the world. Took her dad giving up his life to fix it.

Her dad's not around this time. Nor is the Doctor.

"Guess it's up to me, then," she comments and fools herself into believing that her voice doesn't shake.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3: Deceptions

**Chapter 3: Deceptions**

He hasn't told Arthur or the others how he's heard Morgaine's voice telling him that she has Rose. Nor has he told them about how she's planning on making demands. It doesn't take a genius – though, admittedly, he is one – to figure out what her plan is.

He's from the past, from before he becomes Merlin. Morgaine's going to try and stop him from becoming her archenemy in the only way she can imagine will work. It's almost stereotypical, really. Want to get him annoyed? Want to try to manipulate him? Target his companions.

What she doesn't know is that that's the best way to make him her enemy. If she's hurt Rose, well, she'll be rather sorry that she's encountered him and not one of his previous incarnations.

_Merlin._

He almost falls off his horse in shock. What is it with this place? Two telepathic conferences in one day? Well, not really conferences. More like Morgaine telling him that she's got Rose and now, well, he supposes that it's time for the demands portion of the conversation. It's been a while since he's last used his telepathic abilities for a conversation, but he supposes that he remembers enough. This isn't a conversation that he desires to share with the others. At least, not yet.

_Morgaine_, he replies.

_I will return Nimue to you, Merlin, in exchange for your vow._

He knows what's coming. It's blatantly obvious. _A vow?_

_A vow that you will never return to this world or its domains. Leave me and mine alone for the rest of your long life so I can have what's rightfully mine._

There it is. A request to change his future to change her past. Even if he has the choice – which he doesn't – it's not something he can give. The web of time, even in this universe, relies upon it. _Time doesn't work that way, Morgaine. You can't change your past without consequences._

_You've always held your precious Time as something that can never be broken. But you've done it before, Merlin. I've seen in Nimue's mind. I've seen what you've done for her sake. You will do so again._

He all but growls at the implication. Oh, he knows exactly what she's implying. What she knows. Rose's father. How he saved her life with a kiss. _There were consequences to each of those actions. In one, it almost destroyed the universe. In the other, the consequences were far too…_

_The Big Bad Wolf sleeps, Merlin. It'd take just a thought for it to awaken and consume her. She could burn._

"Don't you dare," he says, each word dripping with venom. He sees, but doesn't register, the expressions of those around him. The fear in their eyes. His vision is turned inwards, where he can almost see Morgaine. Same red hair, same haughty expression, same hatred in her eyes.

_Oh, I dare, Merlin. I always dare. Promise me!_

Visions of Rose, burning again in the grip of the Vortex – what if he hasn't pulled it all out of her, what if some remains? Visions of a world, this world, consumed by Reapers in the after effects of his never becoming Merlin. Visions of his universe demolished by the ripples of this one's destruction.

He knows the consequences. Knows what will happen no matter his choice. And no matter the choice, Rose loses. There are always choices, though. Always options. And one of his favourites has always been playing for time. _You win_, he replies, and his mental voice is barely a whisper.

_What? _Is that surprise in Morgaine's voice?

_Didn't hear it the first time? Getting a little deaf in your old age, Morgaine? I said, you win. Release Rose._

He hears nothing for what seems to be an eternity. _Come to my Keep, Merlin._

_And Rose?_ he asks, mentally congratulating himself for managing to avoid giving a promise.

_Nimue will be returned. _The response is almost regretful, as if she's expected more of a fight out of him.

She has no idea.

A moment later, he feels Morgaine withdraw from his mind, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts. When he blinks to moisten his suddenly dry eyes, he realises that they've stopped and the others are staring at him.

"What?" he asks, wondering if during his communication with Morgaine he'd dribbled down his shirt. A swift glance downwards reassures him that he hasn't.

"You cried out, Merlin. Said 'don't you dare'. The look in your eyes…" Lancelot's voice trails off for a moment before he continues, "When last I witnessed such cold fury upon your visage, Morgaine had wronged you."

He barely restrains a grimace. Lack of control in telepathic conferences had never been an issue before. But it's only inevitable. Little practice means shoddy performances, especially when it came to the mental arts. "Sorry about that, was talking to myself. Have a bit of a tendency to do that, really. Been a bit of a failing for a couple of centuries at least. Must remind myself not to do that. Then again, that's never worked before." For a reason he wasn't even sure of himself, he didn't want them to know the truth.

Of the other eight men, most seemed appeased by his words. Only Lancelot and Arthur appear uneasy. Well, can't satisfy everyone.

"Now, can we get a move on?" he asks, suspecting that he's got off far too easily. Something has to give. It's inevitable, really. Story of his life – no, lives. Nothing's ever simple or easy.

Question is, when it all falls apart, who'll be the victim? Morgaine? Rose?

Or the universe?

* * *

The sun's starting to set by the time she next sees another person. She's become careful in her travels to avoid calling anyone else human. She's seen people that are blue, trees that walk and talk, living crystals, and smoke creatures. None of them are human, but they're all people.

Hunger has come and gone, leaving behind only a dull ache behind her eyes, when a young woman – not more than a girl, really – comes into her cell carrying a plate of food. "Your evening meal, mistress," the girl says softly, curtseying before her as if she's truly royalty and not her equal.

"Hello," she replies, just as softly. "My name's Rose, what's yours?"

The girl winces as she places the plate carefully upon the tiny table next to the door. "No-one, mistress. My lady wishes you to eat."

She's seen enough movies to know that the food's likely poisoned, or at least have something nasty in it. Something to keep her docile, at least. She won't have a bite. Better to go hungry than the alternative. "Thank you, but I would like to know your name."

"Mab, mistress. My name is Mab," she says and ducks her head, as if her name shames her. "I am sorry. I should not have spoken out of turn. My lady will punish me."

"For telling me your name?" she asks, astonished.

Mab bobs her head, apparently loath to speak further. The girl moves about the room swiftly, clearing what little mess there is and returning to the door. She tried while the girl's attention was elsewhere to escape, but the latch was still firmly closed. "Good evening, mistress," Mab comments as she turns toward the door.

"Wait," she calls. "Can't you let me out of here?"

An expression akin to pure terror crosses Mab's face. "No, mistress. I cannot."

She can't force herself to try and convince the girl. Instead, she lets her go, knowing in that one gesture more than she had before of Morgaine. She's a cruel woman, that much was obvious. To keep a girl in fear of sharing her own name… She can't even fathom that.

Returning to her seat by the fire, she finds her attention drawn to the food left for her. It's tempting, so tempting, to reach out and just take a small vegetable. Just one can't hurt, right? She forces herself not to look at the food, instead resuming her vigil on the door.

Morgaine's bound to return at some point to gloat. Isn't that in some sort of evil villain guidebook? Or is that monologue? She's certain the Doctor told her so once or twice. If anything, she's expecting someone to come to her. Let her know if she's free to go or a captive for life.

Something.

She doesn't even have a book to read to pass the time. The queen lied to her, really. She just has but the four walls around her and what bits and bobs she could find in the drawers and the wardrobe for some measure of entertainment. Which isn't much.

(The roast beef smells particularly good.)

There's always the possibility of another search around the room to see if a hidden passage has miraculously appeared in the interim between her last once-over. She dismisses that out of hand. It's pointless, really. It's either move around or sit.

Sitting sounds really good right about now.

(Or the carrots. Just one carrot can't hurt.)

It's automatic to reach for the cup at her side; just as it is to bring it to her lips. She's about to take a sip when she realises what she's just done and arrests the motion. She puts it to the side and decides that she must remove the temptation. The wine, at least she assumes it's wine, is easy. She just has to pour it into the basin and it'll get thrown away later.

The food's another issue. She assumes the queen or one of her lackeys will look to see how much she's eaten. Maybe she can just shove the food between the bars in the window? Make it seem as if she's eaten? Or something?

She's too busy pondering how best to shove the thick slab of roast beef through the bars without getting either them or her hands dirty that she doesn't hear the door open again. She does hear the sound of footsteps behind her and she turns, moving the plate behind herself and trying to avoid looking too guilty.

It's Morgaine.

"Merlin has something planned," the queen says without preamble. "The dishonourable knave doesn't intend to fulfil his bargain. I've known him long enough to know that he doesn't accede to anyone that easily. Therefore, child, you will help me."

"Why would I help you?" The words are out of her mouth before she has the chance to stop them.

"Oh, you don't have a choice. You might not have eaten the food, but there are other means of getting what I want," Morgaine tells her.

She wants to say something cocky in response; something that belittles what power the queen might think she has over her. However, she finds that she suddenly can't move. Can't speak. Can't do more than watch as Morgaine's lips stretch into a wicked smile.

"Such as this," the queen says and she finds that she can't look away from the other woman's eyes. Can't blink, can't do anything. She's caught. Oh, god, she's caught and she can't do anything and the Doctor...

_The Doctor_, Morgaine says in her mind, _does not matter, child. He can't save you now._

She wants to cry out, but she can't. She wants to do something to fight back, but she's helpless. She flails against the other woman's mind, but she can't stop her. And she feels Morgaine read her mind, her memories, her thoughts and she wants to cry at the violation.

_Tell me of your world, Nimue_, she's ordered and she can't help herself.

Images of Earth flood her mind.

* * *

Night is beginning to fall by the time they reach Morgaine's castle. The dying rays of the sun lend the Keep an almost foreboding air. Then again, he supposes that any castle would seem threatening if something evil lurked within it. Well, anything would, really. Even a cottage in the middle of Kent.

The drawbridge is down and the portcullis raised in open invitation to proceed, but Arthur holds up his hand to stop their progress. "This is too easy," the king says.

"Oh, wouldn't say that," he replies, gesturing toward the brushes that line the side of the path. "We've got company."

The knights draw their swords before he can do more than hold up his hands. "No, no. Hold on a minute. They're harmless. Well, I say harmless…yet they could've killed us miles back, but they let us approach. We're in a truce at the moment, at least until you lot return to Camelot. Then, anything goes."

"How do you know that?" Lancelot asks suspiciously.

"Oh, could say it's my mystical, magical powers but you'd know better. That's what they usually do in these sorts of confrontations. It's part of the pirate code! Though the code isn't law, really. More like guidelines. No, wait. That's _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Sorry about that."

"I do not care for this," Arthur says and he can't say he blames him. He doesn't really care for it either. But it's either this or Rose's death. He knows what he prefers.

"Doctor!"

He blinks. He's almost got used to hearing people call him 'Merlin' after the last few hours. "Wha-?" he begins, but his words are cut off again.

"Doctor!"

He knows that voice. He half-turns in his saddle and looks in the direction of the voice, and there she is. Rose.

"Rose!" he replies. And he's unable to stop himself from scrambling off his horse and rushing towards her. He barely even registers his companions' protests. It's Rose. She's alive and safe, and oh, he's been so worried, and finally, finally, she's in his arms.

For a moment, she seems almost hesitant in returning his embrace, but that instant is transient. "Doctor," she mumbles into his chest and he's suddenly conscious that he's holding her a bit too tightly.

"Are you all right?" he asks, searching her eyes for an indication of how she's doing.

"Oh, 'm fine. Morgaine jus' let me go. Told me that I've done what I was supposed to an' I found myself out here."

He doesn't like her answer. It seems almost rehearsed, but he lets it slide. She's just had a traumatic experience. That's enough to make anyone out of sorts.

"Good. C'mon, then, Rose and meet the locals," he says and releases her, trailing one hand down her arm to entwine their fingers. It's the same, but different and he's not sure why.

He's imagining things, he tells himself.

"Locals?" she asks.

"Yeah. But, before we meet them, there's something you should know." This is the part he hasn't been looking forward to.

"What?"

He's tried running this scenario through his mind before. There's always been the possibility of seeing Jack again. Either him during his conman days or even during his time with the Time Agency. He's had to think of ways to break it to her. To make her realise that, while it was Jack, it wasn't itheir/i Jack.

"One of the knights looks like Jack," he says, not really looking at her as he tries to find the right words. "But it's not him," he continues quickly, not giving her a chance to shout or make any sort of noise. "It just looks like him. And you can't say anything to him about…well, you know."

"What's his name, then?" Rose asks after what seems to be an eternity. "If I can't call him Jack?"

"Oh, yes. It's Lancelot." He waits until he's certain she's understood him before leading her back to the others.

Most of the others have dismounted and are keeping their eyes on the guards that lurk in the brush to the side of the road. Arthur and Lancelot remain closest to the centre – and most protected – area, and it is to them that he brings her. With a smile and a slight bow, he says, "King Arthur, may I present to you Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates?"

The King grasps her hand and presses a gentle kiss against it. "Milady Rose, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Merlin speaks of little else."

"Thank you, your majesty," she replies with a small curtsey.

Lancelot repeats the King's gesture, but the other man seems to find the act almost distasteful. Surely not...

He shakes his head, dismissing his worries as nothing. "I think we've taken up enough of Morgaine's time. Let's get out of here before the other sock drops. No, wait. Wrong phrase. The other _shoe_ drops."

He just wishes he could dismiss the nagging feeling that he's missing something…

* * *

In the highest tower of the castle, someone screams…

But no-one can hear.

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4: Imposter

**Chapter 4: Impostor**

She stares out into the darkness, her vision impaired by the flickering light of the torches that line the castle walls. She can see the moon or, rather, one of the moons – the other is barely visible near the edges of her vision. It casts little light over the forests below, but what it does cast almost succeeds in quenching what hope she has left.

Nothing moves in the forest at night. She can't see any indication that the Doctor has realised his plight. Nothing to say that someone has discovered the truth. She's still trapped. She's still alone.

And the Doctor's in terrible danger.

Rose turns from the window and sighs softly, letting her body all but collapse against the solid strength of the stone wall. Her head aches a little, as does her throat from her earlier screams, but she knows that that's because of whatever it was that Morgaine did to her. It was a violation, really. Her thoughts and memories were read and discarded like so much rubbish by the queen until Morgaine found what she wanted.

The Doctor. Everything she knows of him, everything she feels. And, now, knowing that her most intimate thoughts – and the secrets she's held for the Doctor – are now known is almost enough to make her despair. However, there's always hope. She's alive, after all.

He might be in trouble, but she can rescue him. She just has to think.

It might be seconds or minutes or hours later when the door opens to reveal the same young girl who brought her dinner. She can tell that Mab's still scared, but there's determination on her features.

"If it pleases you, mistress, tell me of yourself," Mab says simply, and she takes those words to heart. Something in the way the girl holds herself tells her that she's poised on the brink of a decision. Perhaps, and her hope rises again, to set her free.

"Once upon a time," she begins and pauses, considering the phrase. "Yeah, that'll do. Once upon a time, there was a girl who worked in a shop. She filled her life with chips, folding clothes an' the telly. Until she met him. He travelled through time and space in a ship that was bigger on the inside than the outside. An' he asked her to come with him. They had adventures. He changed. She changed. An' he showed her a better way of living. A better way of being. How to save the world or a person. An' now…"

Her breath catches in her throat as she stares at Mab. "He's Merlin, yeah. An' I'm supposed to be Nimue. But the Doctor…he doesn't know that it's not me that's with him. Doesn't know that it's Morgaine. An', when he leaves, she's gonna kill him. Stop him from comin' back. An' I have to get out of here, Mab. I have to. He needs me…"

Absently, she wonders when she changed from the story format to a confession. But it had to be done. She has to convince the girl to let her go.

"I..." Mab lowers her eyes, staring at her clenched fists as if they held the secrets of the universe. "I don't know. I'm sorry that this has happened, but…"

"Mab, someone once told me that it's not what you say that matters. It's what you do. Let me go. Please. I can't lose him." She vents all her emotions into that last sentence, praying that the child will listen.

Thanks to what can only be described as magic, Morgaine's pretending to be her. She might look like her, might even have some of her memories thanks to the Vulcan mind meld or whatever it was she'd done, but she couldn't be her. She can stop this. Take her identity back. And show the Doctor that he's been fooled by a fraud. However, everything rests upon Mab's decision.

The girl bites her lip and nods once. "I will release you."

She wants to cheer, but she restrains herself, knowing that it might persuade Mab to recant her choice. Instead, she settles for the simplest response of all. "Thank you."

Mab nods. "The guards changes every hour, mistress. I must wait until then to release you. If I do not, it is likely that the guards will realise that something is amiss. I am not allowed to be out this late in normal circumstances."

Much as she wishes she could escape now, she can see that this is the best way. And, once the guards are distracted, she can slip out of the castle.

She pauses at that moment and realises that she doesn't truly know where she is, let alone how to find the TARDIS. "How far-" she starts, but Mab cuts her off.

"You should head for Camelot. I have never been, but one of the ladies in waiting once said that it's a day's journey from here. The road leads there…" The girl's voice trails off and she bows her head again. "I'm sorry, mistress, that there isn't more that I can do."

"Come with me," she says instinctively. This isn't a proper life. Surely Mab must realise this.

Mab takes a step backward, shaking her head violently. "No, mistress. I cannot. This is my place."

"But if they find out…"

"I will die knowing that I performed a righteous deed," Mab says, smiling faintly. "No, mistress. Do not take that to mean that I intend to die. It would be my fate if we were to be caught. However, I do not intend to be caught."

She nods and settles herself back into one of the uncomfortable chairs. Sneaking a glance at the marked candle which she learned was their version of a clock, she resolves to wait. But only until the hour is upon them. Then she's going to rescue the Doctor.

It's a plan. Yet she's enough of a pragmatist to realise that nothing ever truly goes to plan. She's just waiting for the cruel twist of fate that seems to be inevitable in these circumstances.

In a perfect world, she wouldn't see that particular twist. Sadly, this isn't…well, it's not her world at least and from what she's seen it certainly isn't perfect either.

If anything, it at least makes life a bit more interesting. She just hopes that the Doctor catches on to the fact that she's not with him. She doesn't want to consider what might happen if he doesn't.

* * *

"You seem vexed, old friend," Arthur says quietly.

He is, but he isn't. He's not sure how to even describe what he's feeling but vexed is far too simple a term. "Oh, wouldn't say vexed. Not really. Confused would be more like it. How long have you been fighting Morgaine?"

Arthur shakes his head. "For far longer than I care to relate, Merlin. Sometimes it seems an eternity. Others, it is but the blink of an eye. She wishes to claim my kingdom and anything else that she sets her eyes upon. It is all that I and my knights can do to keep her contained and my people protected."

"And how long have I been with you?" He regrets the words as soon as he utters them, and prays that he has taught/will teach – semantics are rather difficult when one's considering one's own future, he thinks - Arthur well.

"You have often told me that it is unwise to ask about the future. Especially your own. I cannot answer your query," Arthur replies much to his relief.

"Quite right, too," he responds, staring at a point somewhere in the distance. Thanks to the rough terrain and the darkness, it has become unfeasible to continue riding the horses. So they walk, leading the animals along behind them. A few of the knights carry torches to light their way, but he can tell that several seem particularly nervous about travelling through the darkness.

"We will stop soon," Arthur announces, casting a wary eye on their surroundings. "There are dangers in this forest, especially at night."

He understands. It is too much to expect them to be able to return to the TARDIS now. Much as he'd rather leave now and never return, he can't. At least, not yet. Besides, this will give him time to speak with Rose before they leave this place behind them.

He suspects that she's not doing as well as she's trying to make herself appear. At least, that's the only logical explanation that he can come to. She's not said a word since her initial introduction to the knights. Perhaps she's worried about what happened or about the TARDIS. However, he can't really tell.

He curses the faint light of the torches. It's hard to read nuances of expression in the unreliable light, but it'll have to do. He can hear her walking along behind him – which is, in itself, strange. She's never walked behind him. At least, not when she can help it. And especially not without holding his hand.

He finds that he misses that fragile human contact, but she's keeping herself aloof. She's still close enough, though, to listen to his words.

"Doctor?" Rose asks and he slows slightly to allow her to catch up to him. Once she reaches his side, she continues, "I assume that we will not reach the TARDIS tonight?" Is that disappointment or anger in her voice? That he can't tell bothers him. Usually, she's an open book to him.

Perhaps he _has_ been relying on her too much.

"No," he says quietly. "Not tonight. It's too dark to continue much further and the king says that there are dangers in this forest at night."

A strange smile crosses her face. "I doubt anything will trouble us tonight if we go further."

He shakes his head. "This isn't Earth, Rose. Can't assume. Remember when you assumed the Trelixian cats were harmless?"

"Oh, yes. I understand. Then first thing tomorrow?" Rose's voice is hopeful, yet aggravated.

He wants to sigh, but doesn't. "Yes. First thing tomorrow."

"Good."

They walk in silence for a few more minutes; at least until they reach a clearing. The king holds up his hand, halting their forward progress. "We will make camp here for the evening. Lancelot, you'll…" Arthur's voice trails off as he turns to face the group. "Lancelot?"

He turns, too, and makes a mental calculation. Where there were once nine figures – including Rose – there now are eight.

Lancelot is gone.

* * *

She tells herself not to be impatient, but it's terribly hard. She wants nothing more than to be outside, escaping from this prison and well on her way to rescue the Doctor. Fate, however, has other plans for her. She knows that Mab's idea of waiting for the change of guards is a good one and her best chance at getting out of here. That doesn't help in convincing the nagging voice at the back of her head that tells her the longer she delays, the more danger the Doctor's in.

An eternity, or maybe a few minutes, later, Mab returns with a thick brown cloak. "Put this on, mistress," she says. "You are the only female in the castle with blonde hair. The guards will know you."

She nods and takes the cloak, draping it over her clothes and lifting the hood. Once Mab is satisfied that she is well concealed, the girl opens the door. "Stay quiet and follow me. Step only where I step and, whatever happens, do not stop."

"Okay," she replies and says nothing further as Mab leads the way into the castle proper.

Once upon a time, much like in her story, she supposes that this castle might've been a gorgeous place, full of gold and jewel-bedecked women and laughing men. Now, even through untrained eyes, it's apparent that the castle has fallen upon bad times. While gold and rich tapestries still fill the halls, there's just a hint of dust, of disrepair, that she doubts Morgaine would let pass had she not had her mind on defeating her enemies.

It's almost sad, she decides, to be surrounded by such opulence and to not be able to appreciate it. To be so consumed by anger and hatred that nothing else seems to matter. She pities Morgaine, she realises, despite what she's done to her and to the Doctor. Despite what the queen has done to her people as personified by the terrified girl in front of her. She knows that even the show of some measure of compassion would do little to melt the queen's heart. Hatred for so long – and she believes it to be a long time indeed – has to be hard.

That doesn't excuse what the queen has done to try and change things for her version of better. She should know. She tried to save her dad, to fix something instinctively though she knew it was wrong. And she almost destroyed the world in the process. Something tells her that if the Doctor doesn't become Merlin, much more than the world would be lost. This universe, and perhaps her own, might lie in the balance.

She realises that she's let several corridors pass without her truly being aware of them. Focusing herself on the task at hand, she listens intently as they move down the hallways.

It's hard to pause, duck and hide in an instant, but she tries her best whenever Mab indicates that she must do so. It's harrowing work. Each time she suspects that they're about to be found, they manage to escape detection. Each time she's certain that she must've made a sound, she finds she's safe. It's almost enough to make her feel a bit cocky. As if nothing can touch her.

She knows differently and she keeps that in mind as she follows Mab. She can't get caught, not now, not so close to true freedom. She realises that she's placed a great deal of trust in the girl. She could be leading her anywhere, but she believes that her trust is well founded.

A little bit of compassion, in some cases, can go a long way.

* * *

It's been at least a century, maybe two, since he's last been on a true campout. Admittedly, this particular campout has far less singing Kumbaya and far more sharp, pointy objects and dour glances than the last time, but it's enough to bring back a few good memories.

Rose is close by and he suspects – no, knows – that she's trying to keep an eye on him. As if she fears that he'll wander off in the night to look for Lancelot or to leave her behind. What she doesn't know is that he can't do that. Especially not after...

He dodges away from the thought with practiced ease. Denial wasn't only a river in Egypt – the country or the planet. Instead, he stares deeply into the flames and lets the dancing light mesmerise him for a time.

"Doctor?" Arthur's voice causes him to blink, startled at the unexpected sound.

"Yeah?" he replies, turning to look at the other man. From the corner of his eye, he sees that Rose has lain down but she's still watching him.

Arthur sighs as he settles next to him, folding his legs so he can lay his arms across them. "I forget that you are not my Merlin. At least not yet. It is rather vexing to see you but be unable to discuss subjects that you should know but don't, at least not yet. I had desired to speak to you regarding Lancelot, but you would not understand."

He shrugs. "Oh, might not be me yet, but I'm still me." He wrinkles his nose. "Or would that be I might not be me yet, but I will be? Something of that nature."

The king laughs softly. "It is you," he agrees. "But you do not have the years of knowledge that Merlin does. Lancelot and he are as close as brothers."

"You are worried," he summarises. If he were to be truthful, so is he. He carefully redirects his gaze away from Rose.

"Yes, I am. It is most unlike him to leave without notifying me. Something must have caught his attention, yet I cannot fathom what might have done so. We have rescued Nimue and are returning home. It should be a time of celebration."

"Should be," he echoes.

"Yet..." Arthur's voice trails off as he stares into the fire. "Tell me of your world, Doctor."

This is the first time that he's heard his name, his real name, from the king. He stares at him in amazement. "What?"

"You told me your name long ago, my friend. I simply think of you as Merlin. Will you tell me?"

He hears rustling behind him and knows without looking that Rose has edged closer. "Oh, I can tell you a little…" So he describes a fanciful place full of overbearing stuffed-shirts who did nothing but watched life as it was born, lived, and died. He describes a world made of smoke and cities made of song. Some are lies. Some are truth. But he feels that he cannot share more than what he has.

Some things are meant to be kept secret.

"Thank you," Arthur says once he finishes. "I have always enjoyed hearing of your life beyond this world. I am certain that you anticipate your return with gladness."

He would be lying if he said that he wasn't. "Oh, I look forward to it."

"Then I will leave you to rest, my friend. I must apologise again for delaying your return, but it would be best if you remained with my knights and I until you return to your TARDIS. I must search for Lancelot."

He nods slightly, hearing the faint catch in Arthur's voice as he mentions Lancelot's name. He hopes that the man is fine. "We'll find him," he says, but it's a hollow comfort.

Arthur gives him an inscrutable look. "Yes, we shall."

As the king moves away from him, he returns to his earlier contemplation of the fire. It's not a campout, he decides as he shifts to find a more comfortable position. It's the base camp for an ongoing war. Not only against Morgaine – he turns to look at Rose and smiles at her when he notices that she's watching – but against the forest itself.

He can only hope that the armistice continues. Otherwise, well, he doesn't want to even contemplate what 'otherwise' might entail.

* * *

"Stop," Mab hisses, pressing herself against the wall. She follows suit, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing as she hears shuffling noises from around the corner. A guard? Surely not. One just passed them not five minutes ago. The shift change should've come and gone.

That doesn't negate the fact that they do have company. The cool stone leaches the heat away from her body, but she's not concerned with physical comfort. She's more worried that she's about to be found. That this escape is going to be thwarted before she even steps foot outside.

She's certain that her heart's thumping loudly enough for whoever it is can hear it. It's practically a siren's call. _I'mhereI'mhereI'mhereI'mhere…_

She isn't prepared for what she sees when the man comes into view. Not that hair. Not that face. Not that oh-so-familiar smile.

"Jack?" she whispers instinctively, unable to prevent the name from escaping her lips. It can't be. It simply can't.

But it is.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5: Double Trouble

_Stepping up my posting schedule so this is up before I leave for holiday. Last chapter will be posted tomorrow evening._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Double Trouble**

She reminds herself firmly that this is an alternate dimension. She's seen a Jackie who wasn't her mum. A Pete who wasn't her dad. He can't be Jack, but that doesn't stop her heart from leaping into her throat, the catch in her breath or the tears from springing to her eyes. God, it's been so long since she's seen him. A lifetime.

And he's...

He's talking to her. She shakes herself out of her fugue and listens. "My Lady Nimue?" he asks in a courtly tone that she's never heard from him before.

She finds herself nodding, though that isn't her name. She can't convince her heart that it isn't him, though her mind knows differently. "Jack?" She repeats her earlier question, though she knows it isn't true.

"I am sorry, milady," he says softly and his expression is apologetic. "My name is Lancelot. I am honoured, though, that you mistake me for a figure that Merlin has mentioned often and with great admiration."

Lancelot? She wants to shake her head, laugh in denial, do anything other than accept that her heart has lied. She does none of those things, instead letting vague recollections of Arthurian legend return to her mind. If the Doctor's Merlin, and she was captured by Morgaine, it only follows that King Arthur and his knights exist here as well. The only knight that she can recall any stories of is Lancelot, but not all of them are complimentary.

Then again, he _feels_ like Jack to her. That has to count for something. And he obviously doesn't belong here...

Mab grips her arm, tearing her attention away from Jack – _Lancelot_ , she corrects herself firmly. "Mistress, the guards..."

She can hear someone coming down the corridor behind them. A quick glance at Lancelot and he grips both her arm and Mab's, dragging them behind him. "Keep quiet," he says, drawing his sword.

Oh, she might keep quiet, but that doesn't mean she's going to stand and wait for Lancelot to save the day. She scans the hallway quickly, looking for anything that might be useful as a weapon. The only thing that she can see that would be easy to lift and have a chance at keeping someone at bay is a heavy-looking candelabra that rests on one of the tables that line the corridor.

Hefting the object is no small feat, but she thinks that she can swing it with enough force to be somewhat effective as Lancelot's backup.

The sound of footsteps is drawing nearer. It's hard to guess how many might be coming this way thanks to the castle's echoing halls, but she suspects that there are at least two guards – if not three. She can see Lancelot's back tense as he readies to launch himself at the guards.

"Thought I heard something, Will," someone says quietly and she can hear the whisper-soft slide of a sword being withdrawn from its sheath.

"You're always hearing something, Uthan. It is probably Cook's inability to make a decent gruel that is vexing you," another – Will, she assumes – responds.

"No. It sounded like whispers. Maybe the sound of another sword being drawn. Something other than my stomach." Uthan's voice is urgent and her hands tighten around her makeshift weapon. She doesn't want to use it, but she will if necessary.

"Where, then?" Will asks.

"Behind us. Back along the corridor where the queen is keeping her current guest..." Uthan says and she knows what's about to come.

Will laughs. "Oh-ho. One look wasn't enough for you, was it, my friend? You wish to determine just what the wizard finds so bewitching about his consort?"

She feels a flush rising to her cheeks and she flexes her hands against the candelabra. She knows what Will is implying and she thanks everything she holds dear that she's escaped from that room.

Uthan's voice drops to a horrified whisper. "The queen would..."

"The queen isn't here," Will points out. "No-one could begrudge us a look."

The men's voices drop to a murmur that's punctuated by faint laughter and a few choice comments that she's rather certain apply to her in unflattering ways. Then she hears the footsteps begin to recede, but she restrains herself from going after them. That'd be unproductive and stupid. It just adds another deadline for her current predicament. Once the guards find that she's gone...

She blinks and realises that Lancelot has taken a few steps after them. "Ja- Lancelot," she says softly. "Stop."

"They dishonour you, milady," he says, looking back at her. "I must teach those curs to speak of you with…"

"'S not worth it," she insists. "Please, I need to get to the Doctor. They'll find out that I'm missing an' rouse the castle. Please…" She knows that it'll be that much easier with Lancelot along and she doubts that Arthur – who she assumes must exist in the same manner that 'Merlin' and 'Lancelot' exist – would be appreciative should she arrive without him in tow.

He doesn't look happy, but he nods. "As you wish. We must be swift if we are to find Merlin and the others ere they reach his magic cabinet."

Mab pushes her way forward, surprising her with an abruptness that seems uncharacteristic for the girl. "This way, quickly."

She's astonished by how quietly Lancelot can move, despite his armour. He catches her surprised glance and gives her a smile that's so reminiscent of Jack that it almost brings tears to her eyes again. Smiling back at him for a moment, she returns her attention to Mab.

The girl leads them down more halls, through rooms, and yet more halls until they reach what she assumes are the kitchens. Mab looks at them both warily before nodding towards the room. "The cooks will say nothing if we do not disturb their work. There is a side entrance to the kitchens that leads outside. Go straight through. The entrance is in the far left corner of the room."

"You're not coming with us?" she asks.

Mab shakes her head. "No. Please, go swiftly."

She gives the upset girl a hug and whispers, "Thanks for everything." She knows what dangers the girl has gone through to release her. She can only hope that Mab stays safe. "Be careful." And then she steps away, looking towards the kitchens.

"You have done us great service, milady Mab," Lancelot says and bestows a kiss on the girl's hand.

A few startled looks, an unexpected dusting of flour and at least one frightened scullery maid later, they're outside. It's deceptively simple to escape the rest of the castle, despite the guards. Now all they have to do is find the Doctor.

She looks at the forest that is barely visible in the flickering torchlight from the castle walls and sighs. It's dangerous, she knows, to walk into a forest at night but they have little choice. She needs to find the Doctor and the only way to do that is to risk travelling in the darkness.

At her side, Lancelot glances down at her. "Ready, milady?"

"Rose," she corrects him. "An' yeah. Let's find the Doctor."

As they march towards the almost ominous forest, she can only hope that they can find him in time.

* * *

He lies on his back, watching the stars through the sheltering leaves of the trees overhead. The fire has died down now, leaving only the faint glow of embers to drive back the darkness. And it is dark. He can hear the soft sounds of the horses as they shift in their sleep, the sound of the knights as they murmur in their slumber, and the soft speech of those posted on guard duty. 

He lets his senses roam, feeling the turn of the planet beneath him and sensing the heartbeats of those who surround him. If he lets down his guard, even a fraction, he knows that he'll be able to sense her. Morgaine is close, he knows. Far, far too close for comfort.

It makes him wonder, really, just what originated this particular feud. An argument over cold tea? A falling out over something or other? She didn't like his Chucks? He sighs and mentally curses his past self for not investigating things a little more thoroughly. Admittedly, he knows that he couldn't. Web of Time would fall apart, blah, blah, blah. Time's Champion would be a bit of a misnomer for someone who foolishly destroys it.

A sigh escapes his lips as he closes his eyes against the stars. It's somewhat disgruntling to realise that he knows next to nothing about this world beyond what little his past self was able to infer from his brief encounter with Morgaine and Ancelyn. At least he'll be back at the TARDIS tomorrow.

He's looking forward to denying the future for a short while to come. The implication he realised from discussions with Arthur is that Rose, or rather Nimue, isn't with him any more. Oh, he knows that she'll leave eventually. Every companion does. But a foolish part of him wishes to hold onto her for as long as possible. If that means not being Merlin for a few more years – preferably centuries – so be it.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds that his earlier view of the stars is blocked by someone leaning over him. "Yeah?" he asks, causing the person to startle enough that he can see her face.

It's Rose.

"I had to…jus' see…" She stammers, searching for something to say, and he knows that she wasn't expecting to be caught in her frank observation of him. "I..."

"Rose?" he prompts and is surprised when she ducks her head and kisses him.

As kisses go, and he's only really had two in this body to compare to, this is rough and demanding. Not exactly pleasant, but not entirely unpleasant either. However, he doesn't react. Lets his lips remain unmoving beneath her own until she pulls away.

"Doctor," she breathes, tracing his face with just her fingertips. "Why don't you kiss me?"

There are dozens of responses that he could use. A dozen more that would reveal far too much. "I-" he begins, but is cut off again by another demanding kiss, this one taking advantage of his parted lips. He can't prevent himself from reacting, even a little, though he tries not to encourage her.

She draws back again and stares at him, her eyes glowing faintly in the reflected firelight. "I know that you want to."

"But you don't," he replies reasonably, tilting his head back until he's able to see a glimmer of the sky around her head.

Rose sighs and lifts herself away from him. "You don't know what you're missing," she says and he wants to correct her. Of course he does. She just isn't...

Right. Enough of that line of thought. "Why now?" he asks.

"Thought it was time," she replies with a shrug. "And you don't know what I want."

"Don't I?" He knows far, far better than she does. That much is obvious.

"No," she says and descends a third time before he can move away. Her hands are braced around his face, holding him in place as she thoroughly kisses him. He tries to break away, but he can't.

"Oi! Get the hell off him, you bloody bitch!" Rose – he identifies – shouts and moments later, the woman above him is forcefully yanked away.

He scrambles to his feet in time to see Rose – well, two Roses – circling each other. The knights, aroused by the activity, surround them but keep back. It's hard to tell which is which thanks to the fact that each is wearing the same clothes. Each has the same expression of intense anger on their faces. And each looks as if they're about to strike the other.

"Rose!" he says and both women turn towards him.

"That's not me, Doctor," the one on the right says.

"Liar! That's not me!" the other replies.

"Oh," he says, "I know. Known for a while, actually. Was just waiting for the right moment to say 'hey, Morgaine, what did you do with Rose?' But, obviously, I don't have to since you're here. Bit difficult with the whole evil doppelganger thing going, but I can manage." He looks at the two of them carefully, cataloguing every nuance of their response to his scrutiny.

"Then what're you going to do with the Rose that isn't me?" one of them asks. "Kill her?"

A slow smile crosses his face as he moves to stand in front of that one who spoke. "Oh, no, that'd be falling down to Morgaine's level."

"Oh, right," she replies, almost as if she doesn't exactly believe him. Well, of course she doesn't. Can't see the truth right in front of her eyes. But that is only to be expected.

"You see," he says and holds out his hand, waggling his fingers at the other Rose. "There's a sure-fire way of knowing who's who. And do you know what that is?"

"No," she says, staring at his extended hand – one that Rose, the other Rose, grasps immediately.

"Oh, it's terribly simple. You see, Morgaine – don't mind if I call you that, do you? You see Rose Tyler, my Rose Tyler, would never suggest killing as an option. Nor would she think that Trelixian cats were anything _other_ than harmless." He smiles brightly. "Really, next time you try to do some research, try harder. It's a bit embarrassing, really. Was expecting more of a challenge."

The false Rose's expression changed from anger to pure hatred, altering the familiar face into that of a stranger. A stranger who suddenly erupts into fiery red light. He takes a step back, registering that the others do the same.

When the light dies, Morgaine stands before him and he realises that, despite the centuries between his last encounter with her, she hasn't changed. Same red hair, same crown, same golden armour and same haughty look in her eyes. "Clever, Merlin, very clever. But I could always best you in chess."

"Oh, wouldn't say that," he replies with a wide grin. "Besides, poker's always been my favoured game. Well, at least in this regeneration."

"You are an oath breaker," Morgaine accuses.

"Nope," he corrects, still smiling. "Never actually promised anything. You just chose to take my words to mean what you desired. Nothing more, nothing less."

She points at him and he suspects that, were she truly trying, he'd have a hole right about where his second heart rests. "That is a..." She pauses and seems to reconsider. He knows the moment she realises that he hasn't promised to leave when she seems to erupt in anger once again. "Enough! You may have bested me through trickery, Merlin, but remember that that is the only manner in which you may prevail."

Morgaine pauses, considering the knights that surround her, lingering for a long moment upon Arthur before returning her attention to him. "I will withdraw, but this is not the end. If anything, I leave you to a fate far worse than exile."

He frowns, not liking the implication of her words. "What do you mean?"

Her lips turn upwards into a cruel smile. "That, my dear Merlin, is the future that has yet to be written for you. Were you not the one who cautioned against my desire to change the past? Your future has already been written. Enjoy your fate, Nimue, Merlin."

A moment, and another burst of red fire, later, Morgaine is gone. In her wake, the others murmur nervously to each other and he is caught in a moment of fear. What could she mean? What could she know? True, it's a future version of himself – in this regeneration - that becomes Merlin, but what could a 'fate worse than exile' be?

"Doctor?" Rose interrupts his thoughts before he can be dragged further into melancholy. He tells himself firmly that he's a new man. Brooding and worrying was far better suited to his leather-clad previous self. Once again, she's saved him from himself.

He turns to her, smile widening into a grin as he tugs her into his arms. "Welcome back," he whispers into her hair, holding her tightly.

"Miss me?" she asks, her words catching a little in her throat. He knows what she's implying. Did he know that it wasn't her? Was he taken in by Morgaine's doppelganger?

"More than you know," he replies, releasing her only enough to look into her eyes. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "'M fine. Jus' got a bit roughed up by the blokes that kidnapped me, but that's it. Was treated well at the castle, though Morgaine…" Her lips twist into a grimace of distaste. "She wasn't nice. But she wouldn't be, would she?"

He blinks a little in shock. "What do you mean? She does fit the classic villain stereotype, though I doubt she has sharks with laser beams on their… Oh, wait, that's Austin Powers."

She laughs softly. "No, I mean she's been angry an' has hated for so long that she doesn't know how to do anything else. That'd make anyone be cruel to others."

He opens his mouth and closes it again a moment later. She's right, though. That's all part of the classic stereotype, but a facet that he rarely considered. "Yeah," he replies, pressing a swift kiss against her forehead as an expression of his pride in her. "That's it exactly."

"Merlin, I am sorry to interrupt," Arthur says. "However, we must be prepared for sunrise. I doubt that Morgaine will let us depart her lands without some sort of a fight."

He wants to protest that she will, but he yields to the other man's greater knowledge of the woman's tactics. Casting a glance at the sky, he can already see a faint brightness surrounding the edges of the view. Dawn is swiftly approaching. "Is there anything that we can do to help? Oh, wait, sorry. Forgot to do something. King Arthur, I would like to introduce you to Rose Tyler. Rose, this is Arthur, King of Britannia." He releases his hold on her so she can curtsey in response to the introduction.

"Pleasure to meet you, my lord," she says.

"The pleasure is all mine, my Lady Rose," Arthur says warmly as he takes her hand and presses a kiss against it.

She blushes slightly as she withdraws her hand. A moment later, he introduces the rest of the knights, who repeat Arthur's gesture. When they reach Lancelot, Rose shakes her head. "We've already met."

He can only watch as she walks up to the other man and presses a kiss against Lancelot's cheek. "Thank you for rescuing me," she says and Lancelot seems stunned as he lifts a hand to touch his cheek.

He thinks of scolding her for her unladylike manners, but he doesn't. He can't say he blames her. When she returns to his side, he smiles at Lancelot. "Thanks from me, too."

The knight waves off his thanks. "I have owed you many favours over the years, my friend. Consider this to be but the smallest repayment."

A short while later, after putting out the fire and ordering their belongings, they resume their journey to the TARDIS with one important difference. This time, Rose – the real Rose – is within touching distance.

"So, what happened?" he asks as they walk, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the others.

"Wha'? In the castle?" Rose asks and then shrugs. "You mean besides me bemoanin' the lack of proper loos? Morgaine came into my cell a few times to taunt me. At least once tried a bit of Spock – suppose that's how she managed to both look and somewhat act like me…"

"She didn't act like you at all," he corrects her. "She was rather obvious about it."

She smiles at him and continues, "Then I escaped with a serving girl's help, ran into Jac – er, Lancelot – an' you know the rest."

He should've guessed that she'd rescue herself first. He is about to make some comment of that nature when Arthur joins them. "Merlin, there is something of great import that you entrusted me to tell you when the time came."

"Oh?" he asks.

"You're still here. My Merlin, that is. Back at Camelot, watching over my kingdom whilst I am away," Arthur says and the Doctor almost stumbles in shock.

He's still here? Two of him, the present him, are on the same planet? Oh, hell. His expression turns grim. "Oh, that's not good."

"Doctor?" Rose looks at him, concerned.

"Bit different with Time Lords. Can meet my past selves no problem. It's when it's the same me that Blinovitch has a field day."

"Blino-what? Is that like Reapers?" she asks, her voice heavy with trepidation.

"Oh, worse than that. End of the world and all that nonsense. Big explosions, nasty stuff. We've got to get back to the TARDIS. Now." The sky is beginning to brighten noticeably now with the first rays of sunlight. He should be able to see enough to find his ship before things went pear-shaped.

"Your magic cabinet should be at least two furlongs directly ahead," Arthur says. "You should reach it ere the sun reaches a finger's length over the horizon."

"Brilliant," he says. "Really, we must dash. Wonderful to meet you for the first time for the second time, King Arthur. No, wait, that's i Spaceballs /i . Oh, never mind. Can't linger much longer. Rose?"

"Yeah?"

He holds out his hand and grins. Not enough time to do a proper goodbye, but he's never been a big fan of prolonged farewells. "Run.

* * *

She has to keep her eyes on the ground to try and stop herself from stumbling on any debris. The forest floor is covered in broken branches, hidden holes and acorns. Dozens of objects that could cause her to take a nasty fall should she not be careful. Though the shadows are starting to fade, it's all she can do to see what's beneath her feet as they run through the forest. 

She's almost fallen a dozen times, but the Doctor's urgency is catching. Each time she stumbles, she finds her feet almost immediately and resumes their race against time. She still can't believe that Morgaine has let them go without much fuss. Each time they pause, even for a moment, she fears that Morgaine's men will be there once again. To either kidnap her or kill either or both of them. Perhaps the queen knows about Blino-whatsit. Knows that they have to leave? Maybe that's what protects them.

She shakes her head, dismissing the thoughts as useless. However, in between breaths, she lets the previous events at the campsite replay in her mind. The Doctor, prone, on the ground. Herself – no, Morgaine – braced above him. Snogging him. Bit different this go-around. This time she wasn't even a participant of sorts. She'd been relegated to mere observer status and the memory burns.

She doesn't understand. He's so free with kissing her forehead, with bestowing an affectionate hug or a squeeze of the hand. Anything further, though, and he seems to run. Unless, of course, it isn't really her.

First time it was Cassandra. Now it's Morgaine.

By the time they reach the TARDIS, she wants to ask him why, though she knows it isn't the time. They've got to leave this place. But, as soon as they're in the Vortex, she will ask.

As soon as the door slams shut behind her, he slows his frantic headlong pace to a walk as he moves to the centre console. He blinks in surprise when he looks at it, though she can't tell what the problem is from her position by the door. "What?"

"Thought I'd have to repair something," he says, still apparently shocked. "But she's fine. Better than fine, really. Can't say she's better than new, though, but definitely better than she's been for a long while. Looks like we can leave at any time."

"Then shouldn't we?" she asks. "Blino-whatever it was an' all that?"

"Oh, that only applies outside the TARDIS. Well, it still applies but in here we're slightly out of phase with the exterior. Different dimensions and all that. So it's not a problem any more."

She tries to wrap her mind around that concept and only partially succeeds. "So we can stay here indefinitely?"

"Well, yes. But who'd want to? Bit boring, that." He's about to set coordinates for an unknown destination before she arrests his motion with her hand on his wrist. "Rose, it's hard to leave this universe when you're blocking me."

"If I ask you something, Doctor, will you answer it?" She's careful not to imply exactly what she's after.

"Since when have I – No, wait, don't answer that. If I do, will you let me go?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Then that's your answer," he replies.

She's not certain how best to put it, so she tries for the simplest. "I don't get it, Doctor. How come you snog me when it isn't me, but you don't when it is?"

_To be concluded... _


	6. Chapter 6: The Stuff of Legends

**Chapter 6: The Stuff of Legends**

He stares at her in shock, unable to string two words together let alone a complete sentence. She could've asked anything. Anything at all. And she asks that. There are a thousand different answers, all of them completely right and completely wrong at the same time. He knows that he's keeping her waiting, but how can he answer a question like that?

"Do you know who Nimue was, Rose?" he asks finally, answering her in the only way he knows how.

She shrugs. "The blokes that kidnapped me called Nimue the wizard's consort."

A laugh escapes him. How little does she know. "Nimue is so much more than that. To some, she's the Lady in the Lake who gave Excalibur to King Arthur. To others, she's the cause for Merlin's downfall, who lures him into a trap to keep him away from Camelot. And to even more she's the one woman that Merlin cared for, and returned to at the end of his days. But, you see, they're all right and wrong at the same time."

She doesn't understand. "Then who is Nimue, Doctor?"

He shifts so that he's facing her, letting his hands fall away from the controls. "She's you."

"What?"

"Merlin might be a powerful wizard-" Here he pauses, smirking at the implication. He still doesn't think he'd look good in a beard. "-but Nimue is far more than that. She's a hero. Saved him ten times over and is still saving him just by being alive."

"An' how does that answer my question?" she asks, though he can tell that she's almost embarrassed by his praise. She shouldn't be.

"It doesn't," he admits, staring at the console while he searches for the appropriate words to convey his thoughts. "Though I thought I'd point out that each time I've been snogged by someone, it's at their initiative. Not mine."

"And you weren't a willing participant," she says dryly and he can tell she disbelieves him. As well she should, at least in part. He knew it wasn't Rose each time he was kissed. But he'd be lying if he said that there weren't points where he reacted, almost enjoyed it. Only thing curbing that reaction was the knowledge that it wasn't her. That just isn't something that he wishes to explain.

He looks at her silently for a long moment, registering the faint blush that comes to her face. "Some things are best left alone," he tells her. No matter how he answers, it'll only hurt her.

"Oh," Rose says softly and pulls her hand away from his arm. "I see. Should've realised it sooner, actually. Let's have a laugh at the stupid ape."

"Rose," he begins, but she brushes him off, not giving him the chance to continue before she leaves the console room. In the wake of her departure, he sighs as the TARDIS' hum seems to turn accusing. That was unfair of him, really, but there is no answer to her question that doesn't end in pain. Either now, or at some point in the future.

Rubbing the back of his head absently, he begins to initiate the dematerialisation sequence. Once they are safely in the Vortex, he can consider what to do about Rose. Talk to her, certainly. But he can't make her any promises.

He sighs as he reaches for the final switch that will take them home. Why did he let things get so pear-shaped? Why didn't he just answer her? His fingers brush against paper – paper that he's certain wasn't there moments before – and he arrests his earlier motion to trigger the dematerialisation.

The paper is strangely archaic, though he knows that he has a stash of paper that looks something like this in the library somewhere. It's folded over twice, allowing it to rest over the dematerialisation switch without falling off. When he lifts the paper off the console, he realises that his name is scrawled in his own handwriting on the front.

"Oh," he says. That'd definitely explain how the TARDIS was fixed by the time they returned to her. He fixed it – well, the future him. Though why would he leave himself a letter? Can't be to change the future – that's already been written for his future self.

Well, only one way to find out. He unfolds the paper carefully and begins to read. There are only two sentences written in his hand, but he knows that they're important. Must be, if he's risking violating the laws of time to pass them on.

_Don't squander what you've got. You won't know what it means to you until it's gone._

It doesn't take a genius – which he is, of course – to understand what the note's referencing. Rose.

He's alienated her unintentionally by not answering her question. By avoiding it. By, well, being himself. True, this incarnation does tend to do more domestic than his previous one, but that doesn't mean that he enjoys discussing it, talking about it, analysing his feelings, etc. Freud would have a field day with him, he knows, though it'd probably eventually trace back to his mother. Or, worse yet, Jackie.

There's really only one thing that he can do and he knows the best place in the universe for an apology. Cristayl Minor. Crystal caves, gorgeous rock formations and interesting wildlife. Better still, Cristayl is uninhabited. Shouldn't have to worry about running for their lives or worrying about anything other than admiring the view.

Setting the coordinates, he sends the TARDIS rocketing into the Vortex. Now all that's left is to deal with Rose. Wherever she might be.

* * *

Usually a visit to the butterfly room soothes her. Just watching the animals flutter about their lives in perfect negligence of the cruelties of the world outside the TARDIS can be a balm. Not this time.

No, this time, her massive stupidity prevents her from feeling any sort of calm. No, she just had to ask that question. Of all questions to ask, it had to be that. And now?

Oh, she knows exactly what's going to happen now. The Doctor's going to put in the coordinates for Earth, 2006 and that'll be it. No more Rose Tyler, death-defying adventures in time a specialty. No, it'll be back to Rose Tyler, shop girl extraordinaire.

"Stupid," she curses herself, bracing her forehead against her hands. What the hell had she been thinking?

It was practically a declaration of 'yes, Doctor, I fancy you and really wish you'd snog me and not duplicate mes'. God, she's such an idiot. He doesn't do that. Can't do that. He doesn't do domestic. Still doesn't, though he might come round to mum's for tea. Doesn't count, that. It's not that sort of relationship.

And she practically forced him into considering that she thinks of it like that. "Bloody hell," she says and collapses on her back, staring at the faux sky. She doesn't even register the myriad colours of the butterflies as they fly through the air above her. Nor does she really care.

She's ruined it all.

She might've been staring at the sky for minutes or hours, but one moment she's alone and the next she's got company. He says nothing as he stands over her and she closes her eyes against the accusation that she knows must be in his eyes. "Guess I should pack," she says softly, though she doesn't move.

"What?" he asks, and she can hear genuine surprise in his voice. "Why'd you want to do that? Unless…oh. You want to go?" She's never heard that particular tone in his voice before.

She opens her eyes and looks at him, seeing his regret reflected in his eyes. "I-no. No, I don't want to go, but I should. I jus'… I'm sorry, yeah? It was a stupid question an' I'm jus' a stupid ape for even comin' up with…"

"No," he corrects, kneeling beside her. "You might be an ape, but never stupid. Naïve, certainly. But not stupid."

"Liar," she accuses, though there's no force behind her word.

"Not about this," he says firmly. "Rose, I..."

She holds up her hand. "Don't. I know you can't answer my question. So don't even try. 'S just…"

"It hurts," he replies, completing her sentence for her.

She just nods helplessly. Beneath her, she can feel the TARDIS shudder as they land. She guesses that this is it. The final chapter of the Doctor and Rose, travelling companions.

Surprisingly – or, perhaps, not so surprisingly – he smiles gently at her as he holds out his hand. "Rose, there's something I'd like you to see. And then, only if you want to, I'll take you home."

"You do want me to leave," she says, feeling her heart shatter into tiny pieces. She was right. Oh, god, she was right.

"No! No, I don't want you to go," he insistes, shaking his head. "It's up to you when you want to leave, Rose. I can't make that decision for you."

But he has. Several times. To 'protect her' when all she wants is to stay by his side. So, how can he say that? Unless he's referring to those instances where their lives aren't in danger, when she eventually decides – never – to leave. Knowing him, he probably is. When there's danger, deadly danger, he can't make her that same promise.

She'll just have to live with that.

"Okay," she says when she finds her voice, letting him pull her to her feet. "What do you want me to see?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "That'd ruin the surprise."

Feeling somewhat bemused, she lets him lead her back to the console room and across to the double doors. As he opens them, he gestures for her to precede him.

As soon as she steps outside, she gasps in astonishment. It's gorgeous. The world seems desolate, but there's beauty in this desolation. The rock formations catch and reflect the sunlight in rainbow colours. Off to the side, she can see what looks to be a cave carved out of something that appears to be crystal.

"Wow," she says, unable to come up with a better response as she looks around. Something cries out overhead and, as she looks up, she sees several large creatures flying above them. "What are those?"

"Dragons," he replies, grinning at her expression. "Well, they don't call them dragons. Don't really have a name, actually. Not now, at least. Bit before anyone finds this particular planet, actually. Completely uninhabited but for the dragons, really."

She smiles at him as she drinks in the view. She itches to explore, to look in the cave, to find out where the dragons live. "I love it," she breathes.

"Thought you'd like it," he says, giving her an affectionate glance. "Thought it only fitting, you know."

"Fitting?" she asks as she watches the dragons twirl through the air above them.

"Oh, I'd say seeing crystal caves and dragons is the best ending for a trip into Arthurian legend," he replies and she has to laugh.

That reminds her. "Doctor," she begins, waiting until he's looking at her before she continues. "You told me about Nimue, but you never said how the legends end. How long does she stay with Merlin?"

"How long are you gonna stay with me?" he counters.

She smiles, catching his meaning as she squeezes his hand. "Forever," she boldly declares.

They share another glance and, before she can say anything else, his lips are pressing against her own in a brief but affectionate kiss. When he pulls away, he's still smiling. "That answer your question?" he asks.

She nods. She once told Mickey that the Doctor wasn't her boyfriend, he was better than that and that's still true. He might not be able to give her forever, and that's okay. She can't promise forever, either, much as she wishes she could. Life doesn't work like that. But she'll take what she can get.

Now can last forever. Memories can last forever.

And, as she stares out at the sun as it begins to set, she adds another item to her list of things that can last. The Doctor and Rose. Merlin and Nimue. Legends, too, last forever.

**THE END**


End file.
